


Rehab/Recovery

by Emilys_List



Category: The Social Network (2010), Why Stop Now
Genre: Addiction, Doppelganger, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eli reminds Eduardo so much of Mark, which is painful and dangerous, especially as he's watching him sit and play the piano so masterfully, as if he's creating the world anew."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rehab/Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> This was left behind on my phone, and was just rescued, after hanging out for a couple of years. Are there TSN fic readers still out there?? If there are, this one is for you, you fellow weirdo ;)

It was bound to happen.

If a kid - and he's humble enough now after hitting rock bottom to think of himself that way - comes into great fortune with no responsibility, nature dictates that he will fuck up royally. Eduardo liked cars, designer drugs, and the most expensive bottle of champagne on any menu. He blew a Saudi prince on a yacht anchored off of Cannes with the prince's father a room away, and then a threesome with two Miss World contestants the next afternoon. He was spiraling.

Was being the operative word.

Today marks one week at Sierra Tucson, in the dry heat of the Arizona desert, in the literally dry rehabilitation facility. Detox was terrible, the worst he's ever felt - finally beating being betrayed by his best friend and forced out of a billion dollar idea. He's still not well, but he's not vomiting on the hour anymore, shaking through group therapy sessions. He's not glad his mother flew to his Singapore with his cousin Tomas acting as her muscle, but he was glad to see her, and he can recognize that he'd lost control. He's just not sure if he's done yet, because being self-destructive after a lifetime of structure, duty, and order has been more delicious than he knew it could be. 

He's reading Nate Silver's book, propped up on the bed with soft pillows, when a smiling staff member leads Mark Zuckerberg in. Not Mark Zuckerberg, but his absolute doppelgänger who is introduced as Eli. After a week here, based on his face and skin color, he'd guess: booze. Maybe some pills.

But Eduardo still can't get past that face, the boy for whom he felt too much, the one who he'd let in and then let him down. More than let him down. 

Eli doesn't say anything to Eduardo, just unpacks his suitcase and plugs into an Apple device, settling onto the bed with his back to Eduardo. Just like Mark would, so that's comforting, or something.

Eduardo goes to his individual therapy session and tries to take it seriously, but they so far have not covered any new ground. Yes, he has daddy issues. Abandonment. Control. Self-esteem. No, he doesn't feel capable. It's the same stuff. He knows booze and drugs don't help in the long term, but they do in the short, and he'd started living life for its moments and not for next year. When something bad can take you by surprise, why plan?

His therapist Allegra starts to press him on this, but they're out of time. "Tomorrow," she says brightly, like a reminder and a warning wrapped up all in one.

On his way back to his room, he hears the most beautiful music streaming out of a recreation room. He's not so keen to classical music that he can identify composers, but he recognizes it, and it's beautiful. It's being played beautifully too, and he sees his new roommate-slash-enemy doppelgänger at the piano and bench. 

Eli reminds Eduardo so much of Mark, which is painful and dangerous, especially as he's watching him sit and play the piano so masterfully, as if he's creating the world anew.

He's playing with such concentrated effort, like no one else is there, like nothing else exists, as his fingers fly. He stops, and closes his eyes briefly like he's saying a prayer, and Eduardo can't help but be drawn to that - talent, passion. Eli opens his eyes slowly, and seems spooked to see Eduardo there, but then he settles back in, looking worn and tired. He gives Eduardo a little wave.

He figures it out then, apropos of nothing but time. "You're Eli Bloom. I saw you play in Vienna!"

Eli sags even more at that, his shoulder slump deepening. "How was it," he asks, flat.

Eduardo can't help but gush. "It was exceptional. You played a mix, Gershwin and Handel and pop - even a Justin Bieber song," he says, wrinkling his nose. "But you were, seriously, you were phenomenal."

Eli nods and closes the cover over the keys. He slides the bench back into place. He turns to Eduardo with hands in his pockets. "I don't remember it at all," he says, and it's not dismissive, it's sad. He shakes his head, and Eduardo can't help but feel for him, in fact, feel quite similarly, too.

They walk back to their room silently. "What were you doing in Vienna?" Eli asks softly.

Eduardo turns to him, taking in his roommate's face. He could grow to like that face again, he thinks. He opts for honestly when he answers, "Spending money. I have a lot of it."

Eli laughs. "Doesn't everyone here? Hasn't the past day of me being here cost 100,000 dollars?" He jokes. "So where does your money come from, Eduardo? And isn't rehab the place to ask these point-blank questions?" He smiles at Eduardo, and Eduardo finds himself so charmed.

He smiles back. "I'm a tech investor."

Eli shakes his head, and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Back there, that's about as high tech as I get. Do you invest in computers or something?"

He nods. "Yeah, something like that."

"Cool," Eli replies. "Maybe you can help me with my iPod."

Eduardo snorts. "My tech support line is always open," he says in jest.

"Eduardo, please stop hitting on me," Eli says, and Eduardo is struck like lightening until Eli's sour face slides to reveal a smirk. 

But the thing is, he thinks later that night, staring at the ceiling, bunking up with a guy for the first time since freshman year, that hitting on him is exactly what he was doing. He turns to see his sleeping form, lips parted, finally relaxed. How many times had he seen...

So far, recovery is not yet that.


End file.
